St Matthew
by Elizabeth Firebreath
Summary: Mathew has never had a family, instead a father and brother who don't acknowledge his existence. Moving from place to place, the suburbs of Philadelphia and the mislabeled high school of Urbana might hold the key to putting Mathew on the path to finding the one thing he'd never dreamed possible, a home. Part 2 of Homecoming Series
1. The Hockey Game

**Chapter 1**

Darkness was all that greeted Mathew when the timer began to beep.

Five in the morning was way too early to be doing anything with a full day of school ahead of you, especially when that full day also happened to be the first day of a new school in a totally different place. Yet, last night at eleven, he'd set his phone on a timer for six hours, which brought him here to this ungodly moment of the morning.

Mathew Jones tore himself from his blankets and stood up, wide awake. He'd slept in the living room. This time there hadn't been a spare bed room. He suspected that hadn't been an accident. At least sleeping down stares made it easier to grab something to eat and take off before his father, or worse his brother, awoke.

All the clothes he owned were stuffed in a duffle bag he tugged along everywhere he went. No telling what would happen if he left them alone.

New town, though, so he wasn't exactly sure where he could and would want to go for the hour and half before school started. Didn't even know how long the walk from this house to the school was.

He'd become very used to moving, so he wasn't worried. Every town had their rules. For instance, Mathew's bisexual brother could only crush on boys safely in some states. Where and when it was okay to loiter was just another thing he'd have to learn.

The couch sat in front of the fake fireplace that could only be turned on with a switch. The couch was in the living room, and the living room was connected to the kitchen. Not very surprising, but very few houses he'd lived in were particularly unique or interesting. He walked across the floor and opened the pantry. Lucky Charms, Fruit Loops, Coco Puffs, all of the highly sugary cereal he couldn't stand. But that wasn't what he was looking for. Mathew reached past the cereal and into his father's box of protein bars. He took two and pored himself a glass of orange juice.

Scarfing the meal down, Matthew ducked into the bathroom down the hall. He quickly changed into his cloths for the day and regarded himself in the mirror. Tall, broad shouldered, with white blond hair and eyes an almost a violet color. And of course the two twin scars on his forearms. One from an accident, faint and barely visible, the other from the car crash later that day, much more pronounced.

Mathew heard footsteps and the sound of something heavy rolling across the floor

Mathew held back a curse. Why would Alfred get him up this early? Mathew always tried to wake up before his father and brother, to be out of the house before either of them started the day.

He wondered if it would just be best to hide until they left, but that could be an hour.

He swallowed and stepped out the bathroom.

Alfred was making oatmeal and his father sat in his wheel chair, staring out the window. There was no attempt at conversation. Father hadn't been very talkative since the accident. Losing his wife and the use of his legs would do that to people. That would change in a moment. Father had always made an effort at conversation with Alfred when Mathew was in the room.

"You excited for your first day of school?" His father asked his brother.

There was an audible pause, a hesitation from Alfred as he made a decision. He always made the same one.

"I guess." He said, playing along.

And the game began.

Mathew usually just tried to tune them out, but he never succeeded. He sipped at the remaining orange juice and heard his stomach grumble. The exchange continued, and of course, Mathew was listening.

"What are your classes?" Father asked Alfred.

"Well I have algebra 2 first." He was starting to gaining steam. Not a surprise. Talking was one of Alfred's greatest talents.

"Higher level math? Very good, I'm impressed." Mathew gritted his teeth. Algebra 2 was required for all high school students to graduate. Most kids took it in their junior year. Not senior, not exactly higher level. Plus Mathew was taking calculus.

"Well, I mean, most people take it." Alfred blushed, glowing in the uninformed and completely ridiculous praise.

"What else?" his father pressed. Mathew was itching by now, he wanted to leave, but he was still hungry.

"Biology, Team Sports, then lunch which is perfect because I get food after working out." Alfred listed. Mathew decided to grab a glass of milk, maybe yogurt too.

Mathew ended up reusing the orange juice cup instead of walking near his father to get into the cupboard. He opened the fridge. Alfred ripped open a packet of oatmeal and emptied it into a bowl. He babbled on and on. Mathew glanced back, realizing that Alfred would need the milk in a moment for the oatmeal. Oh well, he could use water.

Mathew pulled out the carton of milk and ducked out of the way as Alfred walked the few steps from the counter to the fridge. He didn't glance at Mathew but he must have noticed the missing carton. Still, he opened the refrigerator and made a show of looking through it.

"Do you want me to use water instead?" Alfred asked hesitantly.

"No milk." His father insisted "Isn't there any?"

Alfred bit his lip "We're out." he said. Mathew clutched the milk carton in his hands

"Impossible, it was half full last night." His father insisted.

"Well, there isn't any now-"

There was a heavy silence of unspoken command. Mathew was required to play his part.

Mathew slammed the milk carton on the counter, hoping to see any sort of reaction.

There was none of course.

Alfred turned back shrugging to his father until he 'noticed' the milk carton on the table. "Oh there it is." He said in discovery.

"Did you leave it all night?" Their father asked.

"I don't think so," Alfred said, and paused for a second "Someone must have."

"Well it had to be me or you." Alfred's father analyzed "it's not as if anyone else lives here."

"Well yeah." Alfred back tracked "Yeah, I must have." He amended.

Mathew had always considered himself mature for his age. So when he decided to gently lift the bottle of syrup from the lowest shelf on the fridge door, his intentions were not at all childish. Mathew unscrewed the cap and reached over toward his brother. He tipped the bottle upside-down, letting the cold sticky liquid poor all into the bowl of oatmeal. Satisfied, he leaned back and shoved the bottle back into the fridge and waited.

Alfred stared down at the mess of cereal and syrup. "Uh," he paused, searching for some sort of explanation "I screw up?"

"Language." their father admonished.

Mathew stood and bit his lip. The two continued to banter at each other. Alfred walked to the sink and dumped the dishware in. He grinned self-deprecatingly and took on the blame as his father laughed and asked how he could get milk confused with syrup. Alfred started talking all about his mad skills and no one heard the small pained "I hate you." that came from the forgotten boy on other side of the kitchen.

No one noticed when he disappeared.

* * *

Urbana High was not in fact in the city limits of Philadelphia, but right smack in the middle of the suburbs. Mathew found that ironic.

The school was new and imposing, with a pretty stadium that Matthew vowed never to set foot in. The walls were two stories of white tanned brick with large windows. It was a hulking thing, not beautiful or majestic, rather just extremely intimidating.

Mathew clutched the piece of paper listing his classes in his left hand and held his duffel bag in the right. On his shoulder was slung Alfred's old backpack, the one with the broken strap. Mathew had been able to fix it with a bit if duct tape. Inside was an old binder with a lot of paper Mathew had stolen throughout the summer, and a few pens he'd found lying around. The things people left behind in their classes would serve to replace Mathew's school supplies as the year went on.

Now it was just a matter of walking into the school. Mathew was taking a hesitant step forward when his choice was made for him, sending him sprawling forward after a head on collision.

"Watch where the fuck you're standing asshole!" came an enraged and irritated voice.

"I'm sorry." Mathew replied automatically, staring at all the fallen books on the ground. He crouched down to help. "I-" he looked up.

The boy had a small frame. Immaculately combed red hair and tastefully picked cloths. His appearance screamed wealth the way his expression scream anger. He wasn't particularly beautiful. His features were too sharp and his eyes a muddy brown color.

And he couldn't shake the feeling that he had seen the other boy before.

"Next time!" The boy lifted his head to glare into Mathew's eyes. "Don't fucking stand in the middle of the street like a dumbass unless you want to get bulldozed over."

Mathew, appalled by the other boy's language, felt anger boil up inside him. He'd tell the boy how rude he was, Mathew didn't deserve to be talked down to like this!

"Got it?!" snapped the red head angrily.

Mathew didn't do much as say a word.

The boy spun on his heel and walked purposely into the school.

Mathew shifted the backpack on his shoulder and began to follow.

Mathew needed to find his locker before he went in search of his first class. He took the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and scrutinized it. He found his combination and locker number, located in the north wing of the school.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

* * *

His first class was chemistry. The lab tables were arranged in seats of two, facing front in rows and columns. Mathew quickly scanned the seating chart and found his name. His lab bench was in the back of the room next to someone named Lovino. Only a few people had entered the room but Mathew still felt foolish just standing in the middle like a deer in the headlight. He glanced around and moved to take his seat.

Lovino had already arrived. He leaned back in his chair, he staring down at his phone intently. The boy pounded down on his smart phone viciously. Mathew realized with a sinking feeling that he recognized Lovino as the boy who had knocked into him minutes before.

Perfect.

Mathew moved to sit down. He waited for Lovino to groan or complain or announce his displeasure in some other way, but the other boy didn't say a word. Mathew should have been grateful but in truth the boy's silence only served to make the situation more awkward.

More children filed into the classroom and the two continued in their silence. Lovinio seemed to be getting more and more agitated. He glared down at his phone as if it were the source of all his problem before violently shoving it into his pocket. Looking up, he began in burning a hole in the wall dead ahead of him with his eyes. After minutes of unbearable silence the bell rang shrilly and a middle aged looked out at the class. She scanned and appraised every student as if to determine what kind of pain in the ass they'd turn out t be.

"The student you are sitting next to will be your lab partner for the next year," she announced. Mathew shriveled inwardly.

Lovino turned slowly toward Mathew and fixed him with a stare "If you really are as clumsy as you seem, you better not get in my way and fuck up my grade, got it bastard?"

And thus Mathew's school year began.

* * *

First days were always boring. Mostly the teachers just passed out paperwork and gave the customary welcome speech. From his first three periods, Mathew already been handed over a dozen documents he'd have to forge his father's signature onto, but no real homework. Not even from Calculus.

Fourth period, however, was a departure from anything Mathew had expected. Physical Education classes were usually just an extension of the general population of the school. A collection of snooty girls wearing short shorts and scrawny guys who thought they were good at sports. As Mathew surveyed the gym he could tell that this wasn't the case.

This was the jocks class.

His gaze was drawn to a group of kids playing with a football. In another corner, two groups of kids looked to be almost in a fight. One, Mathew was unsurprised to see, was headed none other than his lab partner Lovino. The other's leader was an even slighter boy with choppy blond hair.

"Rugby." came a casual voice.

Mathew twisted around. Behind him a hulking figure leaned against the wall. Mathew was struck immediately by his powerful aura. He had almost white hair and unreadable violet eyes. He wore a heavy long sleeved shirt and sweat pants. He must have been hot; Mathew was sweating even in his light clothing. But the other boy didn't show any signs of discomfort. In fact, he seemed completely at ease.

"What?" Mathew asked.

"Rugby." The guy answered. He had a strange accent, Russian maybe. "Lovino and Arthur over there. You wouldn't think it considering how small they are, but they're magnificent at it."

Mathew nodded, pretending he had any idea what Rugby was.

"Um, thanks I guess." Mathew replied.

"No problem," The boy didn't look directly at Mathew, rather, off to the side, absorbed in something else "What do you play?" he asked with a surprising amount of interest.

"Huh?"

The large man waited for an answer.

"Um, nothing, I suppose. I don't really do sports."

"Than this won't be fun for you then."

Mathew didn't like the sound of that.

Mathew gripped his hands behind his and ran his tongue along his teeth. "What do you play then?" he asked, hoping to deflect attention.

The boy moved with a striking amount of grace and pointed to the far corner of the room "See those five right over there?"

Mathew turned in the direction indicated. He saw five blonde boys.

"Those are my team mates." He explained "Hockey."

"Field hockey?" Mathew asked.

"Ice hockey." A bizarre smile split the other boy's face.

Despite how disconcerting the boy was, he'd been the first person to engage Mathew in a conversation, however strange, that day. Lovino, Mathew decided, didn't really count.

"I'm Mathew." He said.

"Ivan Braginski."

"Nice to meet you Ivan." The echo of Ivan's words drifted back to him. "Now what did you mean I won't have fun if I-"

"Everyone listen up! That means you Mathias! Shut up Lovino! You'll have plenty of time to rip Arthur's head off once we've started the game!"

"You will soon find out." Ivan said ominously. He brushed passed Mathew and toward the voice. Mathew turned and followed.

"Alright sweeties!" shouted the imposing gym teacher "No freshmen? Good! You all know the drill!"

"What are we playing coach!" yelled the brown haired girl.

"Field hockey."

A few scattered cheers could be heard, but the air was overpowered by groans.

"Let's play some football, a real sport!" one of the boys shouted.

"Quiet Hernandez!" The teacher bellowed, sending a glare in the boys direction. She turned to her right, scanning the assembly of children. "Densen! Oxenstierna! Team captains! Make it quick."

The two largest of the blond hockey kids stepped up. "Lukas!" shouted one.

"Tino." The other boy's words lacked the first ones exuberant, but had the same air of command.

"Emil!" the loud one called

"Ivan."

Ivan tapped Mathew on the shoulder "Come with me." he said.

"You can't pick two!" whined the other team captain indignantly. Ivan and their team captain both turned to glare with ice intensity. Instead of cowering in fear, though, the other captain just rolled his eyes "Fine! Elizabeta and Ludwig!"

"Luciano."

"Lovino!"

"Arthur."

"Hello." said a cheerful looking blond boy. "My name is Tino."

Mathew looked up, meeting the boy's gaze. Before today, he'd never met another person with the same strange violet tinted eyes he saw in the mirror. But in the past ten minutes he'd met two. "Mathew." He replied.

"What do you play?" Tino asked "Ivan must think your something special to take an interest." His smile became slightly forced as he said the other boy's name.

Mathew grimaced. Why did everyone assume he did sports?

"I-I," he stuttered "Don't really, um, well, play, uh, anything really."

Tino eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he quickly covered his surprise with a smile "Oh, well don't worry about that. Ivan knows what he's doing." He said reassuringly.

Mathew didn't feel reassured

"Alright! Captains! You have five minutes to discuss strategy!" yelled the teacher.

"Gather round." said the low voice. "Those of you that don't play hockey, what are your positions in your sports?" he surveyed the group. "Your forward aren't you Luciano?" Berwald asked, eyes landing on one of the boys.

Luciano made a sound of accent.

"Forward then."

The boy, Arthur, the one with the choppy blond hair interrupted Berwald as he opened his mouth to speak. "Rugby doesn't exactly translate into hockey, I don't see how-"

"Midfielder." Ivan interrupted.

Berwald nodded curtly.

Mathew felt his mind wandering as Berwald continued to assign roles and positions.

"You? Your position?"

Mathew's head shot up. Everyone was looking at him and he realized the question had been directed to him. "Um-I," he began.

"Forward." Ivan said.

"Alright!" shouted the teacher "Onto the pitch!" A few kids let out sounds of anticipation. Mathew felt the group moving left, towards the double doors leading outside.

"Wait!" Mathew cried glancing around for Tino "w-what's a forward?" but Tino had disappeared.

Mathew turned frantically toward the only person in sight. Arthur had stopped and was staring at him. "Please-" he begged.

Arthur gave him a disbelieving look "You try to hit the puck into the net." He answered as if that explained everything.

Mathew watched him trot off and he bit his lip, panic rising. Alfred was the athlete, not him. He decided running for the bathroom was his only option, nobody would notice he was gone, nobody ever did.

Just as he was about to bolt, Ivan materialized next to him. Mathew started, looking up at the guy. Somehow, even though Mathew was taller than average, Ivan towered over him.

"Where are you going?" Ivan asked in a tone that should have sounded sweet, but didn't.

"N-nowhere."

"See there's our problem." The boy exclaimed happily. "We need to get to the pitch. Come on, it's warm outside, if that's what your worried about."

Ivan grabbed his arm and started to tug him along. His grip was strong, but not painful. Still, Mathew felt shivers running up his spine and had to force himself not to yank himself out of the other boy's grip. He wasn't used to such deliberate touch.

Ivan drug him through the crowd and out the double doors. Ivan hadn't been lying. Even this far north in the United States summer was lingering with all its might. It was warmer, even, than it had been even hours before. He even began to worry about not having applied sunblock earlier that day.

Shirts littered the ground. Many of the guys ran around bare chested. Even a few of the girls wore only sport bras.

Judging Matthew had gotten the idea, Ivan let go of his arm, and started walking toward the end of the field. Pitch, Mathew corrected himself, though he was pretty sure that was something you threw in baseball.

Mathew still didn't know exactly what he was supposed to be doing, but he was beginning to have an idea of how to save himself the embarrassment of revealing that. He remembered that one of the boys, Luciano he believed, was forward also. Maybe he could just follow his lead? It was the best plan he had. Mathew scanned for the other boy. He was already on the pitch, toward the middle of the field and on the right.

Mathew walked onto the middle left side of the pitch, opposite from Luciano. Mathew positioned himself a mirror image of the other boy, just slightly back from the line. He glanced around, fearing that he was making some stupid mistake. Thankfully, no one seemed to be looking at him like he had no idea what he was doing. In fact, no one paid him a second glance.

The stragglers took their positions on the Pitch. Mathew was relieved to see that the other side looked pretty similar. Everything seemed in order. The largest difference was the other team captain was positioned at the middle of the line, a ball, as opposed to a puck like he would have expected, right before his stick. Mathew knew he should be focused on the ball or at the very least Luciano so he knew what the hell he was supposed to do when something happened. But he found himself focused on the other team captain. His blond hair was spiked up in the oddest way. He was very pale and, shirt off, Mathew could see he was muscular, broad shoulders narrowing to his hips in that triangular shape Mathew himself saw in the mirror to a lesser extent. Nay one with eyes could see that the guy was attractive-

Was he checking the guy out?

Mathew shook himself. He was on the verge of making a huge fool of himself and he was focusing on the physic of some guy who didn't even know he existed? What if he'd seen Mathew ogling him like some seventh grade middle school girl? Not only would his masculinity be insulted but-

The ball was hit.

Everyone burst into motion. Mathew frantically searched for Luciano. He was running into the opponents side of the pitch, Mathew bolted across, trying to get somewhere relative to Luciano's position.

Luciano seemed to have a reputation, or at least the rest of the kids realized that Mathew was less of a threat. Almost all of the defending players conglomerated over on Luciano's side of the field, guarding him closely. This, Mathew realized, left Mathew pretty wide open. Mathew searched for the ball in case anyone was enough of an idiot to pass the ball to him, but he couldn't find it anywhere.

"Bastard!" shouted a shrill voice. Mathew's head whipped back around toward his team's side of the field. Lovino and Arthur were clumsily fighting for the ball, awkwardly shooting sticks out and tangling themselves in each other's limbs. Arthur however was somehow able to gain the upper hand, whisking the ball away from Lovino. Arthur's head shot up for a quick second and realized that Luciano was too heavily guarded. His eyes landed on Mathew. Mathew only had a few moments to scream profanity in his mind before Arthur hit the ball into his direction.

The ball went slightly wide and Mathew had to jump left to get at it. He tried to mimic the movements he'd seen the other kids do as they ran, but he suspected he sucked at it.

He turned intent on finding someone to shoot the ball to as quickly as possible. Meters away he saw a brown haired girl hurtling toward him. He was ninety percent sure that she wasn't on his team. Mathew glanced desperately around. There were still too many people around Luciano.

Berwald. He was father up the Pitch near the opponent's goal. A silver haired boy was hovering close to him but his only other option was Luciano and that wasn't happening.

The girl was almost on him. Mathew frantically hit the ball in Berwald's direction. It went wide, but thankfully in the direction farthest from the silver haired boy. Berwald had to turn and stretch , snatching up the ball into his possession. He used that momentum to fling it toward the goal. The ball sailed passed the large blond goalie and into the net.

Cheers erupted behind him. He could hear Arthur's distinctive accent as he shouted something smug, and the indignant screech of Lovino.

Mathew grinned. Not horrible, he decided.

* * *

It hadn't been beginners luck either, unless beginners luck continued throughout a whole game.

Mathew became more and more confident as the match progressed. Match or game? Mathew wasn't sure. Regardless, he had a knack for it. By the end, he'd only gotten the ball wrestled from him twice and scored just as many goals. About half way through the defenders started to guard him just as heavily as Luciano.

His team ended up winning, much to the chagrin to the spiky haired team captain. He didn't seem to like being beaten by Berwald at all. Maybe they had a rivalry?

The coach blew the whistle, signaling the end of the game. Mathew stumbled off the field feeling pleasantly warm and tired. Someone clapped him on the back and he turned seeing Tino grinning up at him. "What did you mean you didn't have experience? You're great!" Mathew saw out of the corner his eye the spiky hair team captain pick up a shirt and throw it angrily in the vague direction of Berwald. Berwald didn't react.

Mathew felt himself turning red and beaming at the other boy. "Well I-I guess I didn't do horribly but I don't know if well-"

"Nonsense!" came a voice from behind them. Tino's smile froze in place. "Accept the little Finnish boy's compliment! You did well."

Mathew flushed again, but this time with embarrassment. "Th-thank you T-T-Tino" he stuttered

"That's quiet alright." Tino said "Well I will be going- uh, um, what was your name again?"

"Mathew." He supplied.

Tino nodded and scurried off. Most of the other kids had filtered back into the gym already, leaving Ivan and Mathew almost completely alone. Mathew scanned the Pitch and met the gaze of Arthur looking over at him. Eyes full of warning.

Mathew swallowed "Thank you I-Ivan" he tried to keep from stuttering but he felt himself trip on the last word.

"No problems." Ivan replied, smiling a bit.

"Oh w-well." Mathew's eyes connected back with Arthur's. He wasn't moving, but continued to watch. Mathew looked away.

"The school has a hockey team." Ivan began

"Field hockey?" Mathew asked. A sport? Sports had always been Alfred's thing. But Alfred had never done field hockey.

"No, ice hockey."

"O-o-ohh we I d-don't know if I-I-" Ice hockey? Like on the ice? That didn't seem like a good idea.

"Think about it." Ivan said "You'd be good at it, I know that. I could help you adjust to the ice rink. It's not as hard as you might think."

"I-I'll think about it." Mathew lied. He had no intention of ever stepping on ice with blades strapped to his feet. Sports cost money, money his family wouldn't be willing to spend on him. It was impossible.

"You should." Ivan told him.

Mathew nodded. The teacher shouted for the stragglers to hurry up into the gym. Ivan swept passed him. Mathew watched him walk away, not knowing whether he was glad the other boy had left.

When he turned, he found then Arthur had appeared next to him.

"Be careful of him." He said.

"What?" Mathew asked, looking over at the British boy.

"I said be careful." Arthur gritted "There's allot of shit you just don't know about. Trying to help you kid. Ivan is bad news. You know what? Never mind" Arthur shouldered past and stalked away toward the open double doors, threatening without words, to leave Mathew alone in the summer air.

Mathew hurried to catch up.

* * *

**To Invisible Boy Readers: Does this feel incomplete to you? That's because this isn't the whole first chapter. Thing is, there's another scene, probably more important than all of these combined that I just can't seem to get right. I have started several different drafts and none of them fit well. So, because I felt bad for taking so long, I decided to just post the incomplete first chapter so you guys at least had something. Problems with this are that I am really afraid that only having this overstates the importance of allot of the characters. Luciano doesn't matter, at all, like I literally don't even have him planned into the story. But he plays kind of a large supporting role in the story which bothers me. Ivan on the other hand, is very important, but it's a side plot not the main, and this chapter makes it seem like that whole story is going to be about Ivan. It's not. Also I wasn't even able to introduce the really strange part about this school, or the elephant in the room. Or even really approach the whole Mathew knows allot of these people thing because I can't get this scene right. Well I hope you at least enjoy the beginning.**

**Oh and don't think I have forgotten about Gilbert. You will see.**

**To New Readers: Basically what I said up there works well. Ivan's important but its not really about him. It take me a really long time to update which is something IB readers are used to. Oh and this Invisible Boy thing? Its basically a prequel to this story. Its about 11,000 and, while you don't have to read it to read this, it will help you understand a lot of where Mathew's coming from and lay out pretty well characters are going to be important in this story. Expect Arthur, Arthur is the only new introduced character that is going to be huge. And Ivan and another are going to be important to, but Arthur.**

**Oh and Spoiler Alert: Ivan is not a dick.**


	2. The Blue Period

**I finally finished it guys! Finally another chapter to this story. The next installments should not be as long a wait, I'm already half way through Chapter 5 and am planning to finish Chapter 7's first draft by the end of the summer. When I'll be able to pick them up for the second and third I cant say, and I'm actually going to wait for my beta readers to have some time to look at them from now on. Its just been so long I thought I owed you guys a chapter, even if I'll end up reposting it with the minor details fixed**

**I honestly feel like this is a boring chapter. Three, Four and Five have been way more fun to write because we actually start to get into plot. This chapter is necessary though, so I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

In every other school Matthew had attended, lunch periods were organized by grade. Ninth grade would have its own lunch, followed by eleventh or any other combination similar to that. This school, however, was different. It seemed whoever happened to have the period open found themselves sitting at the lines of long tables with benches built in. The food, disappointingly though, was one hundred percent familiar.

Bad food was better than no food. Mathew had forgotten to grab a snack or steal a few dollars when he'd stormed out of the house. He'd go hungry today due to his carelessness, but this wasn't the first time.

Matthew swallowed thickly, glancing out at the freshman through seniors. They all mingled together, chatting and gossiping in there little clicks without a care in the world. He stood, just removed from the scene, against the wall. Why'd he come in here at all? It wasn't as if he had any money for food. He knew there would be no magic opening for him to sit. Same story, different chapter.

But occasionally there would be someone to sit with. But as he scanned the room he didn't see anyone who would welcome his company. Maybe if Ivan had been there Matthew would have joined him, despite Arthur's weird warning. The only kids he really recognized were his lab partner Lovino sitting with his little brother and a few of his friends and the loud brown haired girl (Elizabeta maybe?) in a large group. Besides that was some blond guy in his calculus class.

He might have attempted to sit next to the platinum blond girl with the large bow in her hair. She sat alone, carefully spooning a packed lunch that a lot of love seemed to have gone into. But her aura was so scary that Matthew was afraid of the idea of passing her in the hall, let alone sitting next to her at lunch.

So he supposed he'd be figuring it out on his own. That wasn't such a new thing. He hadn't met any teachers that had taken pity on him specifically, or generally just offered their room to anyone who didn't want to go down to lunch, so that wasn't an option. The library also proved to be a no, it was closed during lunch. That meant the bathroom was his only real option. He turned from the lunch room scene and walked a few yards right to lay his hand on the men's restroom door handle.

"Hey." said a voice. Matthew turned. The guy who had called his name raised his eyebrow. "You really going to go in there." He asked.

Mathew didn't answer, just fled into the restroom and closed the door behind him.

The bathroom was a very average high school bathroom. Grey floor, white walls, black stalls. It was a little small, only four stalls and two sinks. Matthew headed for one of the second stall. When kids didn't think about hygiene, but instead convenience, they took the nearest one. Others head straight for the back, reasoning that with slightly less accessibility the farthest would have less use. But from Mathew's experience, he'd determined that the middle was the safest bet, and he had spent a lot of time in bathrooms.

When Mathew ducked in, he realized he was alone. That was kind of strange for the middle of the lunch period. But he didn't think much about it, he was too busy marveling at the incredible amount of graffiti on the walls.

The bathroom stall was covered with colorful red sharpie, all the same color, all in the same hand writing. How one person had been able to keep anybody else from defacing the stall was beyond Mathew. But he'd always loved little mysteries like that. He'd never know the real answer, but he could imagine ones that were probably more interesting.

On the door was the only exception to the red. Three single words in black sharpie, yet still the same handwriting.

Bad Friends Trio.

* * *

Matthew was squinting at the writings all over the stall when the bell rang. He sighed, unhappy to leave such an interesting array of seemingly meaningless statements and drawings. Maybe just one more second, to finish the sentence he was on.

That one second soon turned into several minutes. It wasn't until the second bell had rung that he was jolted out of his studies. Shit, that meant he was already late.

He bolted out of the bathroom. The lunch room had emptied of people. Only a few custodians turned and gave him looks before returning to their work. Shouldn't there be another lunch period here by now? Maybe he was the last one. Regardless, he needed to get to class.

Out of the lunch room and into the hall. Which hallway? What room number? Matthew fished the paper with all his class information out and glanced at it. He was going in the complete opposite direction. Matthew stopped on a dime and swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees.

He was going to be very late.

* * *

The door opened before Matthew had a chance to knock. A tall boy gave Matthew a nervous look before retreating out of view. Looking in, he was met with a whole class of worried faces.

"Mr. Jones?" came a heavily accented voice. He jumped to attention and swung his head wildly, trying to locate the speaker.

"Well how marvelous." French, the accent was French. "Class began six minutes ago, but if it is your desire to start the year off with detention, who am I to stop you?"

The boy who'd opened the door was just about to take his seat, and again Matthew was struck by just how tall he was. Or maybe it wasn't exactly that. Maybe it was just the sheer contrast between the pupal and the teacher. Standing next to the tall boy was a short man. Well, he wasn't that short, it was the contrast really. Still, there must have been three feet of difference, and Matthew found it all he could focus on. Worse yet, he felt wild laughter bubble up inside him. Mostly though, he wanted to bolt. There were way too many eyes focused on him.

"Do you, Mr. Jones, find the prospect of detention funny? If so I would be more than willing to amuse you after school the rest of the week."

"I'm fine." Matthew giggled.

This really couldn't be going any worse. If Matthew had been the teacher he would hate himself, and this man didn't seem like the kind hearted, forgiving type. The tall boy, however, really needed to sit down. Other people were starting to notice. Whatever spell of intimidation this teacher had weaved over the class was breaking, and Matthew was only beginning to laugh louder and louder.

"Nonsense! My room after school until 4:30, and for every extra minute you're late you'll stay for three more." The man promptly turned his attention to the rest of the class. "Where's Jones's seat?" He asked.

There was some shifting around and the noise slowly died down.

"Well?"

Nobody said a word.

"You've all caught the trembles from Tori's eh?" The teacher sighed loudly and bent down to sift through papers laying on top of the projector. He paused for a second, glancing up at the tall kid. "You're not where you're supposed to be Toris." He remarked. Toris jumped up and stammered out a few apologies before rushing back to his seat.

The teacher looked back down and began to scan a piece of paper. He pointed, without a word, to an island of four desks pushed together where two girls, a blond smallish one and a lanky African American sat diagonal from each other.

Matthew looked back. He was pretty sure he knew what the teacher wanted but he didn't want to screw up yet again.

"To your seat Jones." The teacher said slowly, as if talking to a small child who wasn't quite getting it.

Matthew took a step forward and soon found himself lowering into the seat next to the African American girl. Looking around, he saw that any wave Mathew had made in his unceremonious entrance had been completely erased. Everyone was quiet, gazing up in the teacher with a mix of fear and resentment, but no mirth. Matthew settled down into the uncomfortable chair, resigning himself. He'd had plenty of teachers like this before and he already knew that this class would be by far his worst.

"Now, seven minutes after class was supposed to start, we begin. My name is Mr. Bonaparte and that is how you will address me. Not 'you' and not..."

Yup, this was going to be terrible.

* * *

One more class left.

That's all Matthew had to survive. On this horrible horrible day.

The bell had rung moments ago but Matthew was still shuffling the hundreds of vocab words and a page of endings into a folder. Vocab words that were sorted into twenty five word sections that were to be memorized each week, and that didn't even take into account the endings, or the homework. Everyone else had been somewhat prepared however, or just less organized. They had all been ready to shoot up out of their chairs and flee immediately. The mass exodus looked ridiculous, sure, but it didn't seem unwarranted.

"Jones hmm?" Mr. Bonaparte mused. Matthew flinched. He turned around to see what his teacher wanted, but it didn't look like he was talking to Matthew. Mr. Bonaparte was absorbed in his grading, or work, or some such and must have been talking to himself. "Jones." He said again before letting out a long chuckle "Figures."

Mathew needed to get out of here.

What was left? Art, Mathew checked his schedule just to make sure.

Yes, art. That couldn't be too strange now could it?

He was so wrong.

Stepping into the room he was disconcerted immediately.

Matthew wasn't exactly sure what the protocol for the extent to which teachers could decorate their rooms in this school, or any school was. But he was pretty sure that painting vast murals on all of the walls wasn't encouraged. That hadn't stopped this guy. But that wasn't even the weirdest part. No, that award went to the fact that everything, from the ceiling, to the chairs, to the nails, to the projector, was blue.

Everything.

That wasn't to say that everything was the same colors blue, oh no. There were dozens, hundreds, thousands (twenty at most) different shades of blue. The tables were one, the chairs were a few more, the cabinets were very dark, while the countertops were rather light. The tiles on the floor varied from royal blue to sky blue to almost white. In all fairness, though, the almost white tiles looked orange, because of how tired Matthew's eyes were already of seeing only blue.

But if that wasn't enough, a second later he noticed his brother sitting in the front row. Next to him was Arthur, and they were arguing. They were so absorbed in each other that they didn't notice Mathew walking in, or anything else really. For one of the more notable times in his life, he was glad his brother was oblivious to his existence.

It wouldn't last long.

Matthew looked around desperately for someone he knew. He noticed the red headed boy from PE (Lovino's older brother?), and a hulking blond boy next to him. Finally scanning the back of the room he saw Tino. While Matthew didn't know him well, the other boy has been nice enough to him in periods earlier and Matthew wasn't exactly left with allot of other options.

There was an empty seat to the right of Tino. He looked up and smiled at Matthew, motioning for him to sit down. " Mr. Picasso doesn't believe in assigned seats." He explained as Matthew lowered himself into the seat. "He's a little weird, but cool. You'll see."

Just then a man appeared out of a door at the side of the room. He was younger, tanned skin and brown hair slicked to the side. His eyes were the most notable thing about his face, wide brown pool, an unfathomable depth. It seemed to Matthew there was some unspeakable sadness inside them. He looked right at home in the dreary hues all around him.

"The room is something else isn't it." Tino commented. Matthew nodded in agreement.

Mr. Picasso started taking role, but when the name Jones came along, he only said Alfred. After a while Tino took notice. "What's your last name again?" he asked, and then "Isn't Alfred your brother?" Matthew shrugged at both of the questions.

"Is there anyone's name I haven't called?" asked the art teacher in a slight Spanish accent.

Mathew really didn't feel like drawing attention to himself. Maybe he'd just let today slide. But Tino wasn't having it. "Mathew-" he announced.

"Jones." Matthew squeaked out.

All heads turned backward. Mathew found any excuse to avoid his brother's eyes. Instead he stared up at Mr. Picasso, who was busy rummaging through his papers.

"Matthew Jones?" one of the boys asked in a deep voice.

"Ciao!" Matthew's gaze drifted to the left. Lovino's brother was waving exuberantly. "You're the hockey guy right! Wow, you were so good!" Matthew blushed. "Well my name is Feliciano, and this is Ludwig!" he gestured at the blond kid next to him.

"Nice try!" Tino laughed "But you wont turn him into some soccer player so easily." His tone was light enough, but when Matthew turned toward him his expression told a different story. Tino's smile was ice, and his gaze pierced the red head with a fiery intensity. Feliciano seem unphased but Ludwig looked slightly intimidated.

"I don't seem to have a Mathew Jones on the list." Mr. Picasso said. He rubbed his chin for a moment, reading through the attendance list again. Ludwig raised his hand.

"Yes Ludwig?" the teacher asked.

"Could Mr. Hohenzollern have pulled him?" Ludwig asked.

"Is he still up to that? I thought Churchill put a stop to that-"

"Apparently."

Mr. Picasso turned and sat down in front of his laptop. After a few moments of scrolling he nodded. "Yep, Matthew Jones is supposed to be in room D118. That is the band room correct?"

"Yeah," Ludwig nodded and shot Mathew a sympathetic look.

Tino patted Matthew on the shoulder, "Good luck!"

"W-what?" Matthew asked.

Feliciano shrugged, still smiling. "They're kind of weird."

* * *

Third times the charm, or at least that's what Matthew was telling himself. Room D118? Was that what Mr. Picasso said? Or was it D108, or D181? No, he was pretty sure it was D118. But he had been pretty sure he had art last period also. He remembered the response he'd received the period before for being late and suddenly he wished he'd thought to stay long enough to receive a hall pass. Too late for that now.

He stopped in front of two wooden doors. Panic was taking hold of his stomach again as he frantically tried to assure himself that D118 was in fact the room number, and it was still last period, and he hadn't misunderstood that art teacher when he'd told Matthew to go here. No, he was exactly where he was supposed to be. His name would be on the attendance list for sure here, probably.

He took a deep breath and pushed forward.

It was a heavy door, probably not even hallow, either that or it was stuck. Matthew struggled against it for a moment then took a step back. He braced his shoulder against the door and leaned all his weight onto it.

Maybe all his weight hadn't been the best idea, but Matthew had never thought the best when he was nervous. He didn't fall, thank god, but he didn't find himself stumbling into the room wildly. Everyone was looking at him now. He didn't need to see their eyes, he could feel them. Just like the period before, only there were probably three times as many people here.

"Hey" came a voice. "Hey, I'll help you up."

Mathew's breath caught in his chest. That voice, Matthew couldn't shake the feeling he'd heard it before. Both authoritative and full of delighted motherly kindnesses. He looked up and met the green eyes of a smiling girl. Defiantly motherly all right, but scary as fuck to. She looked like she could kick his ass. Still, she had a warm glow about her that instantly made Mathew like her.

Matthew felt the gazes of everyone else in the room melt away as he smiled involuntarily.

She was still grinning when she stuck out her hand. "Name's Elizabeta." she said

Matthew shook her hand, think how odd it was that they were shaking hands. "

Have we met before?" he asked

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. "I don't think so." she said slowly. In a moment, though recognition jolted in her eyes "Oh of course we have!" She jumped excitedly "You, you're that boy uh-" she snapped her fingers together, trying to recall something

"I can't think where I could have-" he cut himself off, a thought flashing through his mind.

"You're the boy from first block!" She clapped her hands together. "The one that pissed Arthur off! In Algebra 2, right?"

Matthew's heart sank, remembering who had Algebra 2 first block. "Uh, no. I think you may have me confused with my brother."

"Oh!" Elizabeta nodded "Right! You look really similar though."

"Y-yeah, I've heard that before." He muttered, that insane thought fading away.

"Alright!" came an enthused voice "Looks like we have a new aspiring musician among us!"

Matthew froze. Aspiring musician? What on earth?

Well, it was a Band class. That probably meant he needed some ability with an instrument. He had been so disconcerting by the art teacher that obvious implication of being placed in a Band class had completely passed him by.

The man approached him with a wide smile. And impossibly, this man was the strangest person he'd met that day. Weirder than the perpetually pissed of Lovino, or the mysterious Ivan or even the dictator French teacher, no this man took the cake.

He was older, maybe early fifties, with a wrinkly face that alluded to both great happiness and great pain. He wore what Matthew was sure was a white wig, braided elaborately in the back like some American Revolutionary War figure or early president. He wore what was obviously an expensive suit but it was made for a much taller man and fit awkwardly on his average frame. Yet he didn't seem lesser, like a boy trying to fill his father's shoes. He did all the filling he needed to with his excitement and passion.

His brown eyes danced to Mathew, trying, a probably succeeding at extracting his secrets with his will. "Come now boy, what's your name and what do you play?"

Well that question wasn't unfamiliar, and Matthew had no better response than the one he'd offered in fourth period. He found himself wishing the strange boy Ivan was here to point to an instrument and say "that one." He wished more though for the raw talent he'd found inside himself suddenly on the pitch. He doubted however that expecting either was realistic.

"I, uh, don't."

"Don't what?" This wasn't like PE where it just seemed to be taken for granted that everyone played a sport.

"Play an instrument" his voice seemed to loud for his own ears and he cringed back. A look of confusion crossed the band teacher's face.

"The art kid?" came another voice. Matthew turned his head to a boy who'd appeared next to the teacher. "Right? You came from art?"

"Mathew." The teacher said, Almost as if the word itself was s novelty. "Mathew Jones."

"Excuse me?"

"That is your name?" Elizabeta asked.

"Y-yes?"

The girl grinned "Thought so. Now you have any preferences about instrument."

"Preferably something I can help you with, since you're starting from scratch." said the boy

"So that basically means no to the drums." said Elizabeta

Matthew looked back and forth between the two of them. Everyone else around was starting to talk again, murmuring in low voices and giggling into their hands. He recognized some of the phrases and words and shrank back at the 'what is he even-' and 'instrument' and 'important to know' that really could have meant anything, but obviously must be about him.

"Why not the violin?" The teacher asked. His voice was soft, but it carried over the din.

The two stopped arguing immediately and turned in shock toward the band teacher.

"The violin?" The boy spluttered.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" asked Elizabeta in disbelief. "We're short two flutes; he'd be of much better use-"

"We need to recruit for the quartet, you know that. And the chorus still needs its accompaniment."

"Roderich can do that!" Elizabeta snapped. The boy stiffened, but reluctantly nodded his assent

"And we don't need a string quartet, just yet." The boy, probably Roderich said.

The teacher said "Homecoming is coming up," and the two had no answer for that. "Roderich can teach Mathew during and after class-"

"When will I learn my pieces? I do have other things to do!"

Elizabeta snorted.

"I'm sure you'll manage" the teacher said dryly. He turned to Matthew. "I don't think I ever told you my name." Matthew stared up blankly, not knowing if this was one of those rhetorical statements or if he actually wanted Matthew to nod or shake his head. In any case, the teacher continued. "Frederick Hohenzollern."

"Just call me Frederick." The teacher smiled. Matthew nodded back. "Now!" Mr. Frederick clapped his hands and turned to Roderich "where's our violin?"

* * *

Almost an hour and a half passed after the last bell rang before Matthew walked out of the school. He breathed a sigh of relief. Roderich, he'd learned pretty quickly, was an asshole. An impatient, perfectionist, asshole who expected you to get everything right on your first try. Still, he had an undeniable way with music and somehow coaxed something 'passable' out of Mathew's fumbling fingers.

It was about a thirty minute walk to the house. That gave him time to do some thinking. Surprisingly, he found that he didn't really want to switch out. There was something familiar about the class; in fact, he'd been running into deja vu all day. It was almost like he'd been there before, but it was less about the place and more about the people. (He hoped he would have remembered an art room painted blue.) But how could he have met the whole student body before? It was a mystery, and probably just some bullshit his disoriented mind made up to make him feel more comfortable.

Thoughts swirled in his mind and the walk, which was taking longer than thirty minutes, but didn't seem long at all. He almost got lost twice and he barely even realized he was at the house until he was on the front step.

His father's car was in the driveway, so Alfred had already been picked up, guess there hadn't been tryouts today. Then again he was too late. Regardless, the raised voices from inside the house could've told him as much. It was a bit startling, his father and Alfred rarely fought, at least in front of him.

"I just don't want to!" came Alfred's frustrated voice as Matthew fumbled with the door. He hadn't had time to snatch a key yet. But he'd taught himself to pick locks online one day when he was fourteen. He fished inside his bag for the wrench and pick.

"Years of training and you give it up because just don't want to?" shouted his father. New locks always gave Matthew trouble, just a few more moments.

"They don't have football and I don't want to play soccer. What's wrong with one year off?" Matthew's hand slipped as he registered exactly what Alfred was implying. He was quitting football?

Mathew's father said just what Matthew was thinking "That's the thing you've got going for you! You're decent at school, but football! Alfred, that's who you are!"

"Maybe that's not who I want to be!" Matthew wasn't even fumbling with the pick anymore, to shocked at the conversation he was overhearing. "It's my senior year! I want to enjoy my life for once! Instead of constantly doing what you think is best." His volume was lowering, growing embarrassed at his words even as he said then.

"Collages!" Matthew felt a jolt go through him. That was one thing he didn't want to think about, but probably should be. "Alfred what are you-" the lock clicked and Matthew turned the door, pushing into the house. The door creaked and his father's voice cut off. They must have heard. There were a few muffled words and Matthew heard the sliding glass door opening in the back of the house. Matthew waited a moment to hear the door slam before stepping into the kitchen.

Alfred stood by the window, eyes on his father. Daniel Jones wheeled out across the stone patio. There was barely any grass in the yard, just solid stone and then concrete where a pool had been filled in by the last owners. It was probably of the reasons their father had picked it.

Alfred turned and glanced at Mathew. He had something to say. Matthew was curious himself about whether Alfred was actually quitting, and why. But the two brothers rarely spoke, there father was always under foot. Even when he wasn't, what was there to say? They were simply strangers living together. It had been a long time since they could have actually called each other brothers.

Matthew found himself losing confidence, but then in a strange moment, Alfred was the one to bridge the gap.

"So I met this guy."

Matthew looked up, startled. Their eyes connected for a brief second but Matthew looked away. He almost let the moment pass, Alfred probably expected him to. But in that moment, probably drawing from idiotic confidence from winning the field hockey game, he stood up straight and looked Alfred back in the face.

"Yeah Arthur right?" He tried to keep his voice even, but in reality, talking to his brother was harder than talking to his father ever could have been. He felt as if he was standing in front of a thousand people, as if he were at a congress meeting, filibustering for a bill nobody wanted passed. "Yeah why are you quitting football?" That had been abrupt. Fuck.

"Um, yeah." Alfred shifted uncomfortably. "All the sports are weird and shit and I don't want to really, uh-" he waved his hands "do it." he finished lamely. Then he smiled. And In that smile it was easy to see why his parents had loved Alfred so much better than they had their other son. "Arthur, yeah."

"Yeah," and then Matthew realized something horrible.

He'd forgotten detention.

* * *

**Next chapter we'll actually see some connection to Invisible Boy! For those readers who aren't invested in that, don't worry. I'll reveal everything you need to know little by little. However, even though prucan is the main paring here, don't hold your breath for Gilbert to show up. Carlos however...**

**But I wont spoil anything!**


	3. The Philosopher's Stone

"Is his chest broken?" Mathias asked nervously.

Matthew groaned.

"No," came another voice, Lukas maybe?

"Are you sure? Tino hit him pretty hard."

"You can't break a chest, it isn't a bone."

"Chest bone!"

"Breast bone, there's no such thing as a chest bone."

Matthew cracked an eye open. The two boys were looking down at him. Mathias was on his right, shirtless of course. But Mathew wasn't thinking anything remotely inappropriate because Mathias's boyfriend, Lukas, was on his knees three feet away from his face, scrutinizing his condition.

Condition.

"Going after Tino was a bad idea." Lukas told him. "You'll never win."

"Thanks, got that." Matthew croaked. The smaller boy must of head butted him or something. It seriously felt like he'd broken some ribs.

Matthew shifted and winced. Maybe he'd just stay down for a few more minutes "What was I supposed to do? Let him have it?"

"How about following basic self preservation law number 1, don't fuck with Tino."

"Here," Lukas said, handing him an ice pack.

Someone dropped down beside him. "I'm really so sorry!" Matthew turned his head. Tino was running his hand through his short blond hair, looking so guilty Matthew felt bad about showing any pain at all. "Didn't even realize what I-"

"No, I'm fine! Great actually." Matthew grunted

"That's why've you been on the ground for a good like ten minutes." Mathias asked.

"It's barely been two!" Tino snapped. He turned to Matthew "Here, I brought some ice."

Matthew forced a smile. "Thanks."

"You want to get up?" Lukas asked

Mathias grinned "He's looks like he's good."

"Get up." Lukas ordered, holding out a hand. Matthew grasped it.

"Thanks." He said again as Lukas pulled him up.

"I'll take you to the nurse." Tino fluttered around nervously. Mathew because of all the show of concern, Matthew was beginning to feel guilty himself. sure the boy had almost knocked him unconscious, but Matthew had been the aggressor.

Actually it surprised Mathew just how aggressive he had gotten during those drills.

"No, I'm good."

Mathias threw an arms around Mathew "Guttys of you though" he said, a huge grin overtaking his face

"You've said that three times already." Lukas said. He narrowed his eyes, flicking his gaze from his boyfriend to Matthew. Mathew quickly disentangled himself from the other boy. He was already injured enough as it was.

The four of them had been practicing football drills off in the far corner off corner of one of the fields. it was only now that the rest of the kids in other groups noticed the disruption. Mathew caught sight of Ivan looking up. Ivan had been seemed a bit disappointed when Matthew had joined Tino's group, but with Berwald absent, somebody had to fill his place. Someone other than Ivan. Tino had made it obvious he had some grudge against Ivan.

But it seemed like everyone had a grudge against Ivan.

"No, but seriously!" Mathias broke into his thoughts "You ever considered playing a sport."

"That's more my brother's thing."

"Nah, your great! Willing to take chances and all of that. You know Lukas and me, plus Tino and Berwald, we all do hockey."

"Ivan said something about that." Mathew said, thinking back to the first day of school.

"Yeah! Ivan does it too! And so do a few of his," he paused searching for the word."friends?" Lukas shrugged, not offering any correction. "You have to play! Come on, what do you say? I'm the captain so you know it will be a good time!"

"He's right." Tino said, coming up on Mathew's other side "You should really think about it! You'd be really good.

Even Lukas gave a nod of assent, which Matthew took as high praise. He bit his lip, trying to supress the smile he felt forming. He didn't want to seem arrogant. "I don't know."

"It doesn't start for months," Mathias said "so don't worry about it. Just, you know, if you want to get in shape, we get together on weekends to run, and lift after school sometimes! You're always welcome. "

"Okay, maybe."

* * *

Matthew was practically skipping to lunch. The year had started off rocky, sure. Detention the second day of school followed by the third and forth had sucked. But by the Friday of the second week, things were really starting to look up.

Already, he had a place to sit at lunch. Not just with a few people either, or people that didn't really notice his existence. A whole long table sat the loud and bustling domain of the band kids, and a few of them even wanted to talk to him! It wasn't like they just did it because he was there. Even now, Elizabeta was motioning quite conspicuously for him to sit on the bench across from her and Roderich. Matthew set his stuff down there.

Roderich was all business. "I'm sure you will want to sleep in Monday mourning." he said "But if we are going to make any real progress with your lessons, we ought to continue to schedule some before school, especially because actual band practice often extends after school."

"And plus Mathew might want to do something after school." Elizabeta said.

"Indeed, so when are you available?"

Mathew shrugged "Anytime, I guess."

"Monday mourning should be ideal then." Roderich said. "Any more than that, we'll work out later."

"You're not staying over at my house Sunday then." Elizabeta grumbled. There were a few 'Ooos' and someone elbowed Roderich in the ribs. He didn't so much a blink..

"So," Elizabeta said, ignoring them as well.. "How has your first two weeks of school then?"

Matthew shrugged, but found himself smiling. Elizabeta had made it her personal responsibility to take him under her wing. She would coax every little problem or complaint out and addressed them all. (At one point she'd almost gotten into a fight with some pale kid called Vladamir, but then again it seemed she took every excuse to get into a fight with Vladamir) Roderich had explained one day at violin practice that it was a band tradition. The seniors and juniors were expected to bond with the freshmen in a kind of big brother little brother way.

"Since your basically an overgrown freshmen." Roderich had said "that meant you needed one of us, I guess Elizabeta latched onto you."

"Good" Matthew said "it's been good."

Elizabeta waited expectantly, but Matthew didn't know what else to say. He'd told her most everything already. He was happy to elaborate on himself on a superficial level, but in truth there was very little excitement going on in his first week. Besides Vladimir almost tripping him in the hall because he was a douche bag and the French teacher calling him out seven different times, the last week had been uneventful.

Then something occurred to him.

"Mathias wants me to join the hockey team." He said.

"Mathias?" Elizabeta said, drawing back.

"Mathias," Roderich repeated, wrinkling his nose slightly.

"What?"

"He's such a fuckboy though." Elizabeta rolled her eyes "Kind of an asshole."

"His aspirations in life are getting an athletic scholarship and getting laid." Roderich sniffed in disgust.

"_Your_ aspirations in life are getting a music scholarship and getting laid."

"Shut the fuck up Vuk." Elizabeta snapped. She turned to her boyfriend "Why does he hate you?"

"His aspiration in life is to assonate me." Roderich sighed

"I believe it." Elizabeta said "Back to the Mathias thing, though." The two turned to Matthew with incredulous looks.

"He and his friends are in PE with me." Matthew exclaimed. He crossed his arms and pulled his legs closer to his body.

"Ug, the Artics." Roderich groaned.

"The Arctics? Seriously? The Nordics, Roderich, please."

"One of the boy's little brother owns a puffin!"

"And you think puffins live in Antarctica.?"

"You're in Ap Biology, you tell me!"

Elizabeta waved the question away. "Whatever. Still, those kids are bad news."

"They literally get high every night." Roderich said seriously.

"You get high every night." Vuk called from a few seats up the table

"You caught him." Elizabeta snapped "He's the biggest fucking pothead in the state."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

Roderich raised his hands to the sky as if he were praying "I swear, I am going to start a world war over that asshole."

"Please do."

"That doesn't even scratch the surface!" Roderich said, coming back to Matthew. "Those four associate with Ivan Braginski!"

Elizabeta nodded vigorously and laid a hand on Matthew's arm. "You're a good kid Matthew, you don't want to get mixed up with Ivan."

Matthew moved his hand out from under Elizabeta's. "What's wrong with Ivan?" His voice had gone colder. He felt the sudden urge to hug his chest, but when he reached around himself, he realized he'd only really succeeded in crossing his arms.

"Have you, like, seen him?" Elizabeta asked. "He's a creep."

"Not to mention the shit he did to his sisters." said Roderich

"Beat them right?" whispered Emma from the seat next to him.

"Beat then?" Mathew asked in astonishment

Roderich nodded "Mhm G-"

"Someone walked in on the whole scene." Elizabeta cut in. "Girls bruised and bloody on the floor, not a pretty sight. And the the younger one was so smart to."

"Brilliant, what was her name?"

"Dunno, but she was like a genius or something, skipped a grade, private school and everything until she got transferred here. Stuck by him even while he was in juvie."

"The older one had the sense to move on though. That's what you have to do sometimes I guess. Move on."

"Yeah." Elizabeta agreed. She looked back at Matthew. "You okay?"

Matthew must have looked as shell shocked on the outside as he felt on the inside. "Yeah." He lied "I just-" he broke off. "Wow." It felt so wrong. He just couldn't imagine Ivan hurting anyone. But then again he'd only known him for two weeks, Elizabeta and Roderich knew him much longer. At least this explained why Tino acted so weird around him.

"Yeah I know," Elizabeta agreed. "crazy."

Matthew nodded. "They invited me to train with them over the weekend," he said. "But I'll probably not."

"You shouldn't." Roderich said "Plus you have allot better things to be doing on a Sunday afternoon other than working out with those meatheads. Elizabeta can take you out."

"No I can't." Elizabeta said.

"Is that so? How come?"

"Just can't."

"What are you do-"

"I'm fucking busy okay!" She snapped . "You don't need to know all my fucking business."

Roderich threw his hands up in surrender. "All right then."

There was an awkward pause as Roderich glared at his girlfriend while she wouldn't look at him.

"Sorry." Elizabeta eventually muttered.

"It's fine." Roderich said in a voice that made it clear it wasn't fine and that she had some explaining to do later.

"Maybe you could take him out." Elizabeta suggested.

"He's your freshmen!"

Elizabeta rolled her eyes "He's not even a freshmen."

"Fine!"

"Take him somewhere fun," she said "and not music related."

"Well that cuts out anything that I possibly could want to do." Roderich said sarcastically. Then to Matthew he said "What's your phone number?"

Matthew bit his lip. "I don't have a phone."

"You're a senior in high school and you don't have a phone." Roderich asked in disbelief. "Are your parents super religious or something?"

Mathew's father hadn't been to a church since his wife had died. "No, not really."

"Fine, just, where do you live? Never mind, don't answer that."

"This isn't that hard, meet someplace." Elizabeta suggested. "The school, there we go." She snapped her fingers and smiled. "Eleven o'clock in front of the main entrance."

"Oh, I-" while it would be nice to get out of the house for a few hours, going out with someone? Roderich of all people? That made him uncomfortable. Yet it seemed rude to refuse. Here these people were, trying to include mathew in a way nobody had ever done before. He couldn't just say no because the whole thing was all a little bit out of his comfort zone.

"What if he can't get to school?" Roderich asked "Not everyone lives in walking distance."

"Do you?" Elizabeta asked Mathew

"Uh, yeah I guess."

"Good, it's settled."

"No!" Roderich cried.

"What now?" Elizabeta asked, exasperated.

"I have shit to do this weekend!"

"Since when do you ever have 'shit to do'"

"Since now." Roderich wasn't looking at her. But Elizabeta couldnt very well say anything when she was keeping her own secrets. She seemed to realize that, and backed off.

"Next weekend then." Roderich mumbled.

Then the bell rang and everyone was getting up. Matthew swung his legs over the bench and lost sight of Elizabeta and Roderich. He breathed a sigh of relief. He liked Roderich, he really did, but that didn't mean he wanted to actually spend time with him. Next week. He'd deal with whatever plans Roderich will make later. Right now he had French.

French.

Great.

His steps gradually became slower and slower, feet dragging on the floor. He'd rather not go at all, but that wasn't really an option. As he neared the door he felt the amounting dread pooling inside his body grow heavier and heavier.

"Matthew Jones!" came the voice inside the room "Early for once?"

Matthew hadn't been late to class since the first day of school, yet Mr. Bonaparte always treated his punctuality as a novelty.

"Yes sir." He managed and rushed headlong for his seat.

"Ah not just yet." Matthew stopped dead in his tracks and looked fearfully up at the French teacher. "I think you'll be first for the oral translation today. Come, stand over here and read what's on the screen, then translate what's in your head back to English. Don't be shy! You can't be shy if you want to succeed at all in life."

* * *

"He reminds me of professor Snape."

Matthew glanced to his left, trying to see who had spoken. The girl across the table was looking at him. Erika Vogel, he thought. She was the sister of one of the members of the hockey team, struck him as odd that while he'd never met Vash and Erika had sat across from him for the past two weeks, he still refered to her as Vash's sister in his head.

"I'm sorry?" He asked

"Mr. Bonaparte." Erika Vogel said.

"Reminds you of who?" He asked again, not understanding.

"Professor Snape."

"Who?"

"You know, like from Harry Potter."

Harry Potter? That rang a bell. It was that fantasy novel that everyone liked that was made into a bunch of movies. "Never read it." Mathew said.

"You've never read Harry Potter?" She asked, shock clear in her vocie.

"No, not really." He shifted in his seat awkwardly. Was Harry Potter required reading for adolescents or something?

She nodded and sat back in her chair. "I see." she paused for a moment "You'd like it."

_Why? _he wondered

"It's just," She tilted her head for a moment and smiled. "I'll tell you why if you finish the book."

"Jones!" Came the booming voice of mr. Bonaparte. "Do you think now that you've finished your presentation you don't have to listen to anyone else's? Can't glean any more knowledge from your fellow classmates?" Matthew looked back up to the teacher, feeling a twist in his gut that felt to close to terror to be reasonable. "I suppose you won't have any problems completing the next chapter's reading guides for homework this weekend then will you?

* * *

The library was on the second floor right wing, about as far away from the auditorium as possible. The schooled had mostly emptied by the time he'd gotten there.

"Hey Matthew," came a distinct British accent from behind him. "Tell your idiot brother he better not be thinking he can push the whole history project on me. I know practically nothing about American History."

Matthew whirled around and came face to face with an annoyed looking Arthur. It was odd that the other boy had addressed him at all. It's not like they were friends, classmates and occasional teammates at best, but more aptly strangers, and worse his brother's friend.

"You remembered?"

"What?"

Mathew shrugged. "My name."

Arthur made a face "Well I am not exactly going to get you confused with your brother. You're nothing alike at all."

Matthew's tongue grew heavy in his mouth. Even though the other boy was probably as foot shorter than him, Matthew still felt the way he always did when confronted with Alfred's friends. Inadequate, like some sort of imposter.

"Not even addressing the differences in your speech or voices, you walk differently. He demands attention, you avoid it."

"Oh."

"Here," Arthur braced himself against the door and pushed inside of the library, then hesitated a moment to hold it open for Matthew. "What are you looking for?"

"Harry Potter." he said

"Which one?"

"The first."

"I see, you know, the cover art back in the Uk is so much better than the United States of America." Mathew didn't reply, so Arthur kept on talking. "I grew up in Manchester, the Kirklands are an old family, spanning from the Industrial Revolution."

Then why was he here in America? Mathew didn't want to be rude, especially because he knew all about wanting to keep things like those a secret. But it turned out there was no need to worry about being polite, Arthur continued anyway.

"My siblings and I didn't really get along. It's easier this way."

Mathew meant to ask the librarian to direct him toward the fiction section, but since Arthur was being so open, Matthew didn't see any reason not to ask him. Arthur shrugged and pointed left to a few towering book shelves. It didn't take long to find them. There were about three copies of each book. The books called the Philosopher's Stone were clearly labeled with a 1 on the spine and Matthew pulled one off the shelf.

When he stepped up to the check out, he was followed by Arthur who stood in his tip toes to get a glimpse at his book. "Huh," he said "looks like they do have the European cover art. How odd."

"I guess." Matthew said. He handed the book to the librarian and she scanned it, then stamped a few numbers on a sticker on the back.

"So what's your story?" Arthur asked. Matthew paused for a moment, book in hand, and looked down at him. Arthur shrugged "I told you mine, you tell me yours."

Matthew stiffened "I didn't ask for your story, and you barely told me anything" Well that hadn't been a rude response at all.

"Sure I did, I'm from Manchester England originally. You?"

"I don't know" Matthew replied honestly.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Arthur laughed. "You never asked your parents?"

"We move around allot."

"How come?" They were walking out the door of the library now, Arthur stuck to his side. He seemed determined to get some answers out of him and Matthew couldn't understand why. Regardless, he didn't want to be having this conversation.

"Okay, I see." Arthur nodded, smile playing on his face. "Got some secrets."

Matthew stopped walking "Why don't you just ask my brother?" It had all clicked together. Arthur didn't actually care about Matthew, he was just using him to learn about Alfred. Of course.

"Cause he's just as tight lipped as you are, plus he's an asshole." Arthur said. They were standing in the middle of the main hallway, in front of the cafeteria. No one else was in sight. Arthur continued "But it's pretty obvious that you're angry and he's guilty and you're both hurting each other."

"That's not really any of your business."

"Look! I'm not saying your guys problems aren't all his fault. All I am saying is, you know what, nevermind!."

"Kay." Matthew mumbled.

"Do you need a ride home?" Arthur asked, seemingly viciously determined to be nice.

"No, I'm good. I've got to go to the restroom anyway."

"I can wait."

Matthew shook his head. "Really, no, I'm fine." He turned toward the cafeteria, planning to hit the bathroom there. He really didn't have the urge to, but it was an easy way to try and get rid of the noisy British kid.

"Where are you going?" something had changed in Arthur's voice.

"Um," Matthew turned back. Arthur was standing stock still, eyes wide and horrified. "W-w-what?" Mathew asked, afraid he had done something horribly unforgivable without realizing it.

"There's a bathroom upstairs. Go there." Arthur ordered.

Matthew stared back confused. What was wrong with the one in a cafeteria? Surely Arthur knew there was one there.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because!" he gestured wildly out in the direction of the cafeteria. "That one" he spat the words out as if they were lemon juice "is out of service!"

It hadn't been out of service a few hours ago. But "Oh." was all he said in reply. "Okay."

"Yeah, just don't go in there." Arthur wasnt looking at him.

"Right," Matthew nodded and tried to offer a smile "no problem."

Neither one of them moved.

"Well I guess I'll see you tomorrow." Mathew said after an awkward pause.

"Monday." Arthur corrected.

"Yeah,"

"Yeah," Arthur turned to leave.

Matthew bit his lip. He'd obviously done something to upset the other boy, and Arthur was only trying to be nice. He felt guilty. "Hey, Arthur?" he called.

Arthur turned.

"Quebec." he said.

Arthur's forehead creased. "What?" he asked.

"That's where I was born."

"Right." Arthur face relaxed slightly. He hesitated and then asked "Can you speak any french?"

"No," Matthew said ruefully. "That would have be convenient."

But Arthur was far away now. He might still standing right in front of Matthew, but he wasn't truly with him.

"See you Monday." Arthur said eventually.

"See you then."

* * *

He was only half awake when he realized Tino was still angry.

There was a definite weight still pressing into his chest and Matthew struggled against it. Oh man, he really should have just let the ferocious blond boy have the ball. The game didn't matter that much.

He grunted and his eyes jolted open. Light was already streaming through the windows, it must have been already past eight at least. He'd forgotten to set his alarm. He'd stayed up all night reading the Philosopher's Stone that by 2:00am he'd just gone right to sleep .

The thing that had so tactlessly awoken him was no in fact Tino's arm or leg, but a laundry basket full of Alfred's cloths. Matthew glanced around and saw his father wheeling into the kitchen.

With a start, he threw the basket off a checked around the couch for his duffle bag.

It wasn't there.

Panicked, Matthew jumped up and ran around the couch multiple times. Still no sign of the duffle.

Mathew slowly straightened up. His gaze leveled on his father, who, predictably, was not looking at him.

"Where's my stuff." He whispered.

His father didn't answer.

There was a reason Matthew woke up early every day. If his father could get his hands on any of Matthew's possessions, he wouldn't see them again. His duffle wasn't the only thing gone either. His backpack had disappeared as well.

Matthew collapses back onto the couch and let out a suffering moan. He ended up checking the trash bin about a half an hour later, right after his father had left for work. He found the duffle bag at least in the kitchen trash can, drenched in coffee. But the bag was white and so were all his shirts. Over the years, Matthew had learned ways to around his father's punishments. He'd bleach his shirts and bag, but the pants, well, he'd have to hope they weren't stained to badly.

However, he couldn't find the backpack. Thank god his textbooks were still in his locker and the violin was locked up at school, but that still left his french and calculus homework.

Matthew grimaced.

* * *

Sunday afternoon was at least a pleasant surprise.

After scouring the house for one of Alfred's old backpacks Matthew didn't notice Alfred and his father leaving the house. He eventually did find one, but it was monstrously garish. Red, white, and blue fireworks with the words USA and 'Merca! all over it. The thought of wearing it to school was cringe worthy, but Matthew didn't see many other options. He'd just have to grin and bear it.

There was also a bunch of leftover school supplies inside. He'd had to dump all of Alfred's eighth grade classwork but all in all it was a good find. Why his father had this kind of stuff laying around was a mystery to Matthew. Was it some weirdass momento from Alfred's childhood, instead of keeping picture or trophies he kept Alfred's school work? But then again it had been in Alfred's room.

So why did Alfred want to keep all his shit from four years ago? Sure Alfred had been using the same backpack all through highschool, but did he really need this stupid thing as a spare?

No use dwelling on that now, Matthew had the rare gift of having the house all to himself. He wouldn't have to worry about leaving his stuff somewhere for five minutes and having it confiscated for good, or having to deal with either of them. Plus, it gave Mathew time to call Elizabeta without fear of being interrupted.

She picked up on the second ring. "Who is this?"

"It's Mathew."

"Oh!" She exclaimed "Hey! So this isn't really a good time."

Matthew was thankful he was only talking over the phone because he felt himself blushing. "I'm sorry." He muttered.

"Can I call you back later?" Elizabeta asked.

Matthew shook his head.

"So in a few hours?" she said.

Mathew almost knocked his head into the wall. "N-no you can't, sorry I'm busy."

"Uh," she was clearly hesitating.

"It's fine, it wasn't really important anyway." Mathew's gut twisted. He just wanted this conversation to end.

"No, no it's fine really." Then off to the side "Hey, give me a few minutes. I'll be right back."

After a second she said "So what do you need?"

"It's nothing really, never mind."

"No, really you're fine Mathew."

"I just wanted to" he paused "ask you about a guy."

Her tone turned immediately serious. "Is someone giving you trouble?"

"No, no it's nothing like that."

"Calm the fuck down!" Came Elizabeta's muffled voice. Then back to Matthew. "Sorry, the guy I'm with is an idiot." She sighed "So who?"

"The guy you're with?" Matthew asked

"I'm not cheating on Roderich! Holy shit! It's a family friend!" Elizabeta exclaimed, then again to the side "Will you shut up! Your not funny!" she sighed heavily "So what are you talking about?"

"Arthur? I don't know his last name. "

"The British boy?" Elizabeta asked.

"That's the one." Mathew said

"Ah, Kirkland, what about him?"

"He, uh, kind of freaked out on me yesterday."

"So he is giving you trouble!" She exclaimed don't worry about it Matthew, I'll 'talk' to that- This doesn't even concern you asshat! Back the fuck off."

Matthew hurriedly tried to clarify. "We're fine! I told you it's not like that!"

"Okay so what is- oh"

"What?"

"Yeah, that would make sense "

"What are you talking about!" Matthew fingers began drumming on the table as he adjusted his grip on the phone.

"Look," Elizabeta began "this is going to sound weird, but just bare with me. It was about the bathroom right?"

"How did you know?"

"Arthur's weird about shit, okay? He's been through allot." There was a muffled cough before she added "we all have."

Matthew couldn't shake the feeling he'd just stepped into someone else's home. The comings and goings of every member of the family completely foreign to him. Or more aptly, he felt as if he had just stepped into his own house in one of those rare moments Alfred and father were fighting. He'd never know why, and he would never have anything to do with those problems, but he was still inexplicably drawn in because of sheer proximity, that and the curiosity he couldn't shake off.

"Look, I have to go." Elizabeta said.

"Uhuh, well I'll-" but she had already hung up.

Mathew almost threw the receiver to the floor, but he restrained himself. Ivan was evil, Arthur was crazy, Elizabeta was elusive, and say one wrong thing and everyone suddenly shut off.

What was going on in this school?

* * *

"You know I have better things to go on a Monday mourning." Roderich blatantly lied. It was obvious, from the slight smile on his face and the spring in his step that there was nothing Roderich would rather be doing than waking up an hour and a half before school started to teach someone with absolutely no natural talent the violin.

Matthew, however, actually did have better things to be doing, like sleeping. He forced himself to smile and mutter an apology but in reality all he wanted to do was crawl into some dark corner and maybe die for a few hours.

Roderich turned to Mathew, eyes sparkling. "While you talents are less than ideal," understatement "I do believe I've taught you well enough for you to be coming along adequately." Matthew blinked, almost missing the closest the other boy had ever come to paying him a compliment. He found himself almost flattered.

Matthew was beginning to find himself more comfortable with Roderich than anyone else in the school, even Elizabeta. He couldn't exactly put his finger on why, but he thought it had something to do with Roderich's transparency. He was a perfectionist, with singular tastes and a handful to keep happy sometimes. But that made him predictable and more importantly, honest. Matthew knew just what Roderich thought about him at all times. That made it easier to know what to say.

So sometimes he'd find himself sayign things to Roderich without thinking. "So what's the point of this?"

"What!" Roderich went from content to breathing fire in a matter of seconds.

"Teaching me violin," Matthew said quickly, trying to make amends. "There isn't a string section in the band."

"Oh," Roderich said, loosening back up a bit. But the tension in the air only intensified. "Well there's traditionally a string quartet at the school and, well," he eyes skirted to the side but then snapped back to Matthew's face "There isn't one here anymore."

Matthew was tired of the secrets. Maybe he should just leave it alone. Maybe he would if all these problems wouldn't constantly be thrown in his face. Probably not, he'd always been too curious.

"Who?" He asked.

"Does it really matter now?"

"Maybe." When Roderich didn't answer Mathew hurried to add "Sorry if this is out of line or something."

Roderich fingers the leather violin case before reaching for the latch and flipping it gently "No," he said "There's no reason we shouldn't talk about it." Matthew shifted impatiently "They were a trio of hologins, ah, a pair actually. Antonio Carriedo and Francis Bonnefoy as well as Elizabeta and I."

"Antonio and Francis?" Mathew asked "Who are they?"

"They don't go here anymore. Please don't ask me to say anymore than that."

Matthew nodded.

"Right," he said slapping his hands back together. "Have you been practicing?

"Yes." Not as much as he should be, but it wasn't like he could get any worse.

"Good! How's your jaw feeling?"

Matthew nodded vigorously "Better." He said.

"Than you didn't practice!" Roderich said triumphantly "You tense up when you play, if you were doing anywhere near the amount I prescribed you'd be complaining to no end!"

"I can't take it home!" Matthew exclaimed.

"Well then stay after school!"

"We practice after school!"

"Don't take that tone with me! I'm taking the time out of my busy schedule to do you a favor!"

"Yes mom." Matthew muttered.

"Now let's see how much you've really practiced!"

* * *

"There's no fucking way."

Wait, four drops of acid? God damn it he'd put in six! No big deal, he'd just understate. They were only describing the changes they observed in the metal, no numeric values.

"What Lovino?" Mathew asked tiredly. He probably shouldn't have said anything, the last thing he needed was to be yelled at by the grumpy boy for being worthless after being yelled at by Roderich for being talentless.

"That jackass Carlos is back!"

Mathew really couldn't care less, but he'd learned it was best just to feign interest. "Who's Carlos"

"Didn't you hear me, a jackass!" Lovinio rolled his eyes and kept punching into his phone. He never seemed to get off it, but that was there arrangement. Mathew did all the work, Lovino didn't ruin his mourning.

"Okay," said Mathew.

The metal was all dissolving, maybe he would have to do it all over again. Or maybe he could just glance over at someone else's table. Of course that takes it for granted they know what they're doing.

"Fuck this!"

"What Lovino?" Matthew tried hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"No of your fucking buisness nerd."

"Right." Matthew nodded to himself. He'd just exaggerate the amount of time it took to dissolve.

* * *

"Carlos is back!"

Roderich winced as Elizabeta slammed her tray on the table. "Mind behaving a bit more civilized?" he complained

"Did you hear what I just said?" She demanded "Carlos is back."

"Really!" Emma said from a few seats down the table "They let his ass out of juvie?"

"He wasn't in juvie stupid!" Gisil scoffed. "He was tried as an adult!"

"Must have been let out of prison early." said Joao "Heard he was in for like life."

"Because that makes sense." Elizabeta muttered.

Roderich leaned forward toward Mathew and Elizabeta. "In all seriousness though, shouldn't he be at Suenos's Boulevard?"

"I would have figured." Elizabeta agreed.

"What's Suenos's Boulevard?" Mathew asked.

"It's the school for the bad kids." Elizabeta explained "The criminals." she was stage whispering a little too loudly to be taken seriously.

"Yeah, so why isn't he there?!" Roderich' voice had gained a note of steel and his eyes were glaring hard into his girlfriend's. Matthew looked down and saw Roderich's hand gripping his lunch bag tighter.

Elizabeta shrugged "Because he didn't do anything." Elizabeta turned toward to Matthew "Carlos and Roderich fought."

"Roderich fought someone?!" Mathew asked, flabbergasted.

"Not really." Elizabeta said "But Roderich really doesn't know when to shut up."

"But seriously, stay away from that guy." Roderich said, holding his gaze "He's trouble."

* * *

And that's when everything changed.

Walking fast down the A corridor towards the language hallway, clutching the first Harry Potter book, finished in the early hours of the mourning, to show a girl in his next class, that's how he found Mathew. They collided, still completely unaware of each other's existence, only figments in each other memories, half forgotten in times relentless passage.

Much had changed since the Invisible Boy had stumbled into The Boy Who'd Won the Plush Toy and The Boy Who'd Bought The Dippin Dots. Each were hardly recognizable, but yet they would recognize each other.

Carlos was the first to look up, slightly irritated at the tall white boy who'd so carelessly stumbled into him. He'd not yet met Alfred that day either, so it took a few second to register who the tall boy was. Matthew followed, stammering an apology that was abruptly cut off as his eyes met the beefy Mexican boy's. No, not Mexican, Cuban. Matthew felt a spark go off in his memory, a key that turned and the lock clicked.

"Carlos?"

"Matthew?"

* * *

**A/N: And here, ladies and gentlemen, is where shit actually starts to pick up.**

**And I'm sorry for all the Russia hate, I swear he's just misunderstood! You'll understand later (way later.)**


	4. Bagadge

**Alright so it's been like a year.**

**I'm done with this story, I'm not going to write any more of it. However I am willing to do a couple things to help wrap it up. I'll talk more about that at the end of this chapter.**

**I have no idea how many drafts this chapter has gone through so the quality of the writing is, well, I don't even know.**

**The story however, through this an subsequent chapters already half written, really starts to go down hill.**

**Fast**

**Read at your own risk**

* * *

Matthew burst through the band room doors. "Elizabeta!" he called.

He spotted her off to the left, reprimanding one of the trumpets in her section. Matthew registered that It was the pale boy, Vladimir, the one she was always yelling at. She looked up momentarily and Vlad made his escape. "Uh, hey, what do you need?" she asked

He was bolting toward her, and only skidded to a stop inches from her face. "Matthew what-?"

"Five years ago, Antonia's birthday party, Hershey Park!" He exclaimed. He searched her face, looking for any trace of recognition.

Instead she paled. "What about it?" She asked quickly.

He grinned wildly. He knew, he knew it had to be her! The sassy brown haired girl! It had to be!

"Remember me?" Still nothing. Matthew began to bounce slightly, bringing his arms up in frustration. "Remember I was there-"

She cut him off with a shout. "Matthew!" and he shut his mouth. Many of the conversations around him went quiet as well. Elizabeta had winced at her own voice and now held a hand up, as if shielding herself from the possibility of another onslaught of words. He couldn't meet her eyes because she had them firmly squinted shut, and face averted as a second measure. After a few moments she began again. "Matthew, I have no idea what you're talking about." She said slowly but with gaining confidence. "You were never there with us, it was just a few of Antonio's close friends. How do you even know it happened? You weren't there so you couldn't have known"

"Because I was there!" Matthew's voice shook with frustration. He felt the insane urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she stopped lying. "Don't you remember me?" A crowd was gathering around, most of the kids, even Mr. Frederick, were watching the scene with muted interest.

Matthew for once couldn't care less who was watching, his mind was too busy whirling through how he could possibly prove that he had in fact been at hershey Park, that day, that time, and met them inside, met Gilbert.

GIlbert.

"No listen to me! Carlos was there!" Matthew renewed his efforts doubly. "I just saw him! So was Lovino, my science partner now. There was Emma" he pointed backward toward the flutist.

"Actually he does look kind of familiar." Emma told everyone around her, trying to insert herself in the very public argument between the new boy and the section leader that would most certainly be the topic of conversation for the next month. "We all went to Hershey Park for like Antonio's 8th birthday or something and I think we met this kid, like on one of the rides. His Grandmother lost him or something and couldn't find him for like hours after-"

"SHUT UP!" Elizabeta screamed, rounding on Emma.

The room went completely silent, all eyes on Elizabeta as she glared daggers in the blond girl's direction. To her credit, Emma didn't step back, but crossed her arms and glared daggers right back. Eventually though, she looked away and only then did Elizabeta look back to Matthew, who stood frozen in place.

She swallowed visibly, leveling her gaze onto Matthew's. "I don't know why you're making weird shit up like this Mathew." Her voice was low and intimidating. "I met you two weeks ago."

"But-" Matthew started "Gilbert-" A vast emptiness was fast devouring his insides and his throat constricted upon him. After a few words he found that he could not continue.

"Why are you say these things!" Elizabeta cried "don't Fucking talk about them!"

"Elizabeta?!" Roderich approached cautiously. He looked from matthew to his girlfriend and back. "Whats going on."

She completely ignored him "They wouldn't even know you." she put venom into her words now, and Matthew felt the sting like a viper bite"I barely know you. None of us know you. Why are you trying to pretend we know you? Who even are you?"

Everyone's eyes slowly swiveled toward Mathew, who stood frozen in place,mouth opening and closing like a fish. "But-" he found himself unable to pitch his voice above a whisper.

Rather than dealing a final verbal blow, Elizabeta simply turned away, leaving Matthew grasping at the brink of defeat. And with another confused glance backward, Roderich turned too. One by one every single band member turned away and as Matthew looked about, nobody would meet his eye. l

"But-" he whispered.

"But-"

He turned away then too, turned away and ran.

He fled to the bathroom.

So what if Arthur had some problem with him going there? It wasn't as if caring about what other people thought had gotten him anywhere in the past. He shut himself inside one of the stalls and only then let his tears fall. He had been sure, been so sure that Elizabeta must have been the Elizabeta from the theme park. And yet she denied it, vehemently. Did she want to hurt him? No that was ridiculous, she'd been so nice to him even just earlier that day. She had no reason to lie anyway. Did she really not remember? Was it possible that she really couldn't recall

Was he really that forgettable?

How easy was it for his parents to simply pretend he didn't exist, how effortlessly they excluded him from their life. How often did he sit alone, uncared for and unwanted. Overlooked in every single school he'd ever attended. Did they notice when he had gone, unlikely. Did they remember him now? Almost certainly not. So why should those who'd only spent a couple hours with him five years ago remember him any better.

But Gilbert.

The boy had been so kind to him. Even going so far as to winning that polar bear plush toy and giving mathew his number. Sure, he'd lost them both in the car crash later that day, but that didn't make the gesture any less meaningful. If he cared so much then, surely he cared even a little but now, or at least remembered doing so.

Remembered Matthew.

But that brought up a strange question. If Elizabeta, Carlos, and Lovino were here, where were Gilbert, Antonio and Francis? Did all three of them go to another school? Did they drop out or move?

The answer came when he looked up. All over the wall, drawings of flowers and wine glasses and little notes and quotes that varied from elegant to perverted dotted the walls in light blue sharpie. The only break from the blue writing was four black words on the bathroom stall door. Bad friends Trio, and below it, Francis.

There were three other stalls in the bathroom and Matthew had a hunch at what could be scrawled all over them. He remembered from the first time he'd walked in that the second one would be filled with red sharpie, drawing a of tomatoes and more writing with the exception of four black words, bad friends trio and Antonio. That's how he knew what he'd find entering the third stall. Yellow sharpie, drawings of birds from little baby chicks to Eagles and more writing. And on the inside of the door, Bad Friends Trio and under that Gilbert.

So Gilbert did go to school here. That just begged the question of where was he now?

And what was inside the forth.

The answer to at least the second question was easy to find out. Matthew pushed into the handicapped stall and was surprised to see...nothing. The stall was completely devoid of writing or pictures or any type of graffiti.

"Hey Matthew?" came a voice.

Matthew unlocked the stall door and looked outside. Carlos had propped himself up against the wall, and was now completely occupied in fingering his leather jacket. He looked up and met Matthew's eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked, stepping toward Mathew. His eyes widened slightly "you're crying!"

Matthews hands flew up to his eyes. "I'm fine, really I'm sorry." His breath hitches a little.

"You sure?" Carlos asked, not looking very convinced. "We were talking and suddenly you just took off. Next thing I know I see you running through the hallway."

"I just-" Matthew swallowed forcefully. "I recognized you, and I realized that Elizabeta and-" he broke off, not trusting himself to speak.

"Awe that bitch," Carlos glanced to the side, face crinkling in anger.

"No, it's okay."

Carlos stared at him for a few seconds longer, trying to determine whether he believed him or not. But Matthew was a good liar, and Carlos hadn't seen him in five years.. Mathew offered a smile and that's all it took for Carlos to decide that all was well, or at least near enough so.

"Do you want to go somewhere?" He asked

"I should get back to class." said Matthew

Carlos shrugged "band's last block right? It was last year and Elizabeta and her boyfriend are band geeks. Come on, it's not really that important is it?"

The last thing mathew wanted to do was go back to class, face Elizabeta and the rest of them. But did he really have a choice? He had to go back to class

Didn't he?

Matthew shrugged "where do you want to go?" He asked.

"I can drive you home."

"No!" Mathew said immediately.

"Okay, Well I was going to go pick up some gas, we can figure out what to do from there."

Matthew hesitated for another moment, then nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

It felt odd, actually, just walking out of the school early. Carlos just made something up about a lacrosse game they had to get to. None of the administrators even looked up.

Outside, Carlos led him through the parking lot. Matthew wasn't sure what kind of car he was expecting Carlos to be driving, but the porsche he carelessly flung the door open to was not it. Matthew was much more careful as he gingerly opened the car and slid in.

"So," Carlos said as he started the car. "Nice backpack."

Matthew glanced at the stupid fourth of July shitbag at his feet and nodded. "Thanks."

"Um," Carlos started the car. "So how you been?"

The question just struck Matthew as so ludicrous he could help but start laughing. It started as just a chuckle, but then bubbled into an uncontrollable fit of hysteria. How had he been? For the past five years? Hell, Carlos didn't even know how he'd been before that. They'd met at an amusement park and sat down for ice cream one day. He'd been Matthew's first friend, sure, but they'd only known each other for a few hours. They were practically strangers.

"What's so funny!" Carlos exclaimed, but he didn't sound particularly angry.

"I heard you were at Aster Ends." Said Mathew.

Carlos snorted "that's not funny."

"No no no no!" Matthew put his elbows on his knees started to run his hands through his hair "I didn't mean it like that!"

Carlos shrugged "I got you." He said "But seriously, is that what they're saying?"

Matthew nodded.

"Nah, I had an extended stay at St. Matthews, but I'm not crazy."

"St. Matthews?"

"The hospital."

Matthew's eyes widened "what happened?"

"Fight, something minor turned into something major."

"With Roderich?" Matthew couldn't even begin to imagine the piano boy putting someone in the hospital, especially someone as broad as the Cuban.

Carlos barked a laugh. "Not really, seriously I would like to hear some of these outrageous stories people are telling."

"Than what?"

"I won't lie, I said something insensitive. Got taken the wrong way."

Carlos's eyes flicked toward Matthew. "I know Elizabeta's been around there too, seen her with my own eyes when I was going in to get my cast off the day before yesterday." He shrugged "Suppose it makes sense, but I didn't think I beat Gilbert that bad."

"You fought Gilbert?"

"Oh yeah, he was at Hershey too right?." Carlos grimaced. "Didn't want to, had no issue with the kid, till now anyway. But Roderich was talking shit. Didn't lay a hand on him, I'm not that kind of guy. But I set him straight. Gilbert got pissed and called me out after class."

"So what, he just came up and like..." Matthew trailed off. Carlos was pulling into the 7/11. They parked next to a Carlos turned off the gas.

"Well, not exactly." He said as he was getting out of the car. "He wasn't going to fight me, but then I said something about Francis."

"What?" Mathew asked. Sticking his head out the window. Carlos pulled the gas nozzle out of its holder and started punching numbers into the machine. When Matthew asked the question however he stopped and gave him an odd look.

"You don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

Carlos let out a whistle and propped his arm against the gas machine. He licked his lips.

"Francis committed suicide at the end of last year." He said, not bothering to sugar coat it. "He was Gilbert's best friend."

Matthew went inside the convenience store attached to the gas station. He didn't know Carlos well enough to pick a snack he'd like and he'd just tossed Matthew some money and told him to pick whatever, so it was kind of awkward at first. But As he was scanning through the shelves of candies and chips, something occurred to him. He smiled a bit and ducked into the freezer section before choosing two chocolate chip Ben and jerry's pint tubs.

This seemed to be the right choice because when he handed Carlos one, he smiled a little bit and opened it right away. Carlos had moved his car into a parking space after he'd filled up and he looked content to stay there until there wasn't a bit of ice cream left in the container. That was fine by Mathew. He had a lot to think about.

So this kid, Francis, had committed suicide. That was horrible, but Matthew could help but admit to himself that it did explain somethings. The band's tendency to tip toe over some subjects and Elizabeta and Roderich's blow ups and awkward silences all made sense. The bathroom had all of his scribblings on the stalls so it probably served as a reminder to everyone. Maybe Arthur was friends with Francis.

However, it didn't explain why Elizabeta had gotten so mad him. He cringed to himself at the memory. He forced himself to think back on it. He'd tried to remind her of the last time they'd met, five years ago. She claimed it had never happened.

Was it really possible she didn't remember?

"What are you thinking about?" Asked Carlos through a mouthful of ice cream.

"Uh, Francis really. Was Arthur, um, Kirkland ever friends with him?"

"Maybe, I dunno." he paused for a moment. 'Actually yeah, they might have even been dating."

They drove around a little bit after that and it wasn't until dusk that they arrived back at Matthew's house. They tried to exchange numbers, but this time it was Matthew without a phone. That got them to talking, Matthew found himself spilling his guts like never before about his family, about his invisibility, about his hatred for his father and anger at his brother, and even about his mother's death and the circumstances surrounding it.

"It was me." Matthew said, finding himself all choked up once again "I killed her. We were driving down the highway and I was so angry that I screamed at her to say something to me. And then she did only to tell me that I wasn't their son. That I didn't even belong to them. And then we were sit by a car, and she didn't make it."

Carlos's face had been growing graver and graver as Matthew continued. "Matthew." He said "you know that isn't your fault."

"It is!" Matthew insisted "it is and the worst part about it is that I don't even feel sorry, I'm relieved, even thankful that she's dead." And he was crying. He felt Carlos's arm wrap around him and Matthew leaned into his embrace. He found himself shaking, spraying snot and tears everywhere as he asked. "Does that make me a terrible person?" It's a question he'd asked himself many times, but never allowed to anyone else. It had been a crazy few weeks, full of new friends and confusing secrets.

"No," Carlos assured "no it doesn't." He let Matthew cry. Cry about his family, cry about the friends he might have just lost without knowing how or why, cry about his stupid backpack because that was reason enough.

"My backpack is fucking shit." Matthew choked out through muted sobs.

"That's what you're upset about?" Carlos asked in disbelief.

"It is!"

"I'll buy you a new one." Carlos said.

Matthew sat up. "You don't have to do that."

Carlos shrugged. "Or I'll find you an old one around my house. Regardless I'm sure you don't want to be seen with that." He gestured in disgust at the Fourth of July thing on the back seat

"Thanks."

Carlos looked away, but Matthew could have sworn he was blushing. "No problem." He said

Matthew looked out toward his house. It didn't look familiar, it didn't look welcoming. Every instinct was telling him to stay inside the car, with Carlos.

"What's wrong?" Carlos asked

"I don't want to go inside." Matthew told him.

After letting himself in with the key he'd nabbed that morning, Matthew let out a breath and walked down a foyar. He still had Calc homework to do, and that would take at least an hour, and it was already pretty dark. It would be a late night.

He went to through Alfred's eighth grade backpack down against the couch but another empty backpack was propped up against it. It looked brand new, and spacious. The design was simply, plain black, with two initials on the front of the first compartment. MJ, Mathew Jones.

Inside were a few binders, all filled up with paper and folders and dividers. There was a pencil case too, filled with all manner of writing utensils. He took out a purple sharpie, (what the hell would he need that for?) and drew a few lines on his hand. It was the kind that showed up best on black paper. Almost useless.

It must have been Alfred. His father would never have gone to so much trouble on his account. In fact, the only time he ever went out of his way was to cause Matthew trouble. But it had been awhile since Alfred had done anything like this, not since Matthew'd thrown out the replacement polar bear toy after their mother's death. He hadn't wanted one from his brother, he'd wanted Gilbert's.

Gilbert.

Matthew didn't like the way his heart fluttered every time he thought the name. He didn't even know if the other boy remembered him. Elizabeta didn't seem to. And yet Matthew couldn't imagine Gilbert forgetting him. Surely the hours they'd spent meant something, maybe not all the Matthew wanted them to, but something.

Matthew closed the new backpack and shouldered the fourth of July one off. He took all of his class work out from the old binders and put them into the new ones. He'd put Alfred's eighth grade one back in his brothers room tomorrow, just incase he needed it again.

He set his new one down behind the old one and turned off the lights. He couldn't bring himself to worry that his father wasn't home yet. What would he do? Throw out both backpacks? Carlos was getting him another one.

For the first time in his life, Matthew fell asleep unafraid of what he could loose in the morning.

* * *

**Here's the deal.**

**I have the urge to write more fanfiction. I've been working on my own original stories for the last year and not allot of it clicked for me. So I might be coming back to this account. But to do that I want to have this story resolved.**

**There are a couple ways I'm willing to do this.**

**1) I can post the rest of the (three?) chapters I have half finished. The quality of writing is going to get progressively worse because they have not been beta read, they have not gone through my entire three draft process. Some haven't even had a second draft. But it you want them, I'll post them. (If I can find them)**

**2) I can post my outline for the entire story. See I had lots of good plot, Matthew just got progressively more insane as the wrote the story making the plot not possible.**

**3) If anyone wants to use the plot to continue writing the story, I'm completely open to that. Just let me know. If someone wants to continue writing the story I'll just send them my outline and they can stick to it, change it, do whatever they want. Doesn't matter to me. I'll make a note of who and where readers can find a continuation of the story.**

**Let me know in the comments if any of you are interested in any of these options. If nobody replies I'll just leave the story as is.**


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